


Alpha!Tim: Reckoning

by wintersnight



Series: Reverse AOB [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha！Tim, Beta!Bruce, Fix-It of Sorts, How Do I Tag, M/M, Omega!Jason, omega!dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 06:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18615106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/pseuds/wintersnight
Summary: After B called Red Robin to Gotham (because of things likepotentially dangerous pollen), Red pretty much figured it was a one-time emergency since, you know, he's not the Alpha they want.Right?





	Alpha!Tim: Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> Requests on Tumblr for more Alpha!Tim after the last one shot found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16450064/chapters/38520461), so more things from my brain pan.
> 
> Ah, Alpha!Tim was kind of hard, but rewarding.

Jay is staring B down, jaw tight with uncharacteristic seriousness. Dick is bent over in his chair, forehead almost touching his knees, hands laced against the back of his neck. “That’s why we called in Tim,” B finishes up in his firm yet gentle voice. “I’m sorry there wasn’t time to try and find another solution. At least another Alpha… I’m sure there’s someone else the two of you would have preferred to see you through that.”

“Ain’t no one else ta call.” Jason interjects gently, looking anywhere other than Bruce. His arms are folded over his chest, a _keep back_ gesture.

( _All Bruce wants to do is sit right beside Jay and take his second Robin in his arms, hold on until the sickeningly sweet scent eases down, until the kid is slack and laying all over his lap. But they’re still on the edge of being fine that Bruce is terrified of driving him away–_ )

B sucks in a breath, fights the instinct, tries to make sure his sons don’t see any _judgement_ in his face. As their Pack Leader, he’s always tried to be supportive (even though _no Alpha alive_ is going to be good enough for _his_ sons) and even a little relieved they had Alphas to see them through their Heats. Which is why he’d first tried calling their Alpha best friends first, hoping the Flash and Arsenal could drop everything _now_ and come to Gotham City. As it happened, Wally and Hal were working a case together while Arsenal was in blackout for an undercover mission. “I tried calling Roy and Wally first. I know you both would have been more comfortable–”

“Ars’nal ain’t m’ Alpha,” Jay interrupts, his voice oddly strained even a day after the forced pseudo-Heat Ivy’s toxin threw them into.

“Wally isn’t mine either,” and Dick doesn’t even look up, his voice low and angry, tightly controlled.

B nods gently, eyes going from one Omega son to the other. “I’m sorry,” he repeats even more gently, “I’m so sorry. I should have tried to flush the drugs out of your systems first and I didn’t.”

Jay finally seems to rouse himself, to sit up straighter in his chair in one of the Manor’s salons, usually calm with the scent of old, leather-bound books around him, but not even the surroundings can stop the itch under his skin, no matter how hard he tries to think about something _else_.

(He half-remembers it, the low, deep sound of Alpha’s voice shivering over him while the tension in his belly winds tighter and tighter, “ _fuck, you’re so beautiful like this Jay. So gorgeous. Want you to come for me again. Want you to show me I’m making you feel **good**_.” And he shudders again, in the here and now, just thinking about how well Timmy took care a’ him. Like no other Alpha that’s ever had him before.)

Dick opens his mouth to start saying some placating bullshit to make B feel better about all of it, but _really_ , the tightness in his chest isn’t going to stop just because their long-missing Pack Alpha made sure they didn’t have a fatal pseudo-Heat.

_Nope_.

He feels like a right bastard because at the time ( _and even now_ his inner Omega whispers), he’d been so _hopeful_ , so _happy_ when Tim was the Alpha that came to take care of them. He’d hoped ( _God he’d hoped_ ) maybe it meant Tim hadn’t left them completely, that he was always going to come _back_ someday, to be their Pack Alpha when he was finally old enough to take on the responsibility.

To hear that B had been the one to call him, to remember, blearily, half-conscious, after the Heat symptoms finally eased down and Alfred was checking his vitals, to catch that voice on the edges of his consciousness, _“You needed an Alpha that won’t give away any secrets, so here I am.”_

Dick had barely been able to lift himself up on his elbows, gasping as Red Robin made his way–

– _out_.

“This ain’t on ya, Bruce,” Jay is saying while Dick’s been in his own world of mourning. “M’ fault fer not smellin’ the trap, you feel me?”

But neither of them need to be the World’s Greatest Detective to know something is very, _very_ wrong with Jay’s posture, attitude, and tone.

( _Of course he already has scent blockers back on, it’s the Red Hood we’re talking about, isn’t it?_ )

“Glad you called him,” Dick mumbles, “it’s fine. We’re fine. Crisis averted.”

“For us, yes, but for Tim…”

B raises a hand to wipe away what he’d been about to say, already making a mental _about-face_ instead of talking to his Omega sons about the prodigal one’s brief return.

_That_ is such a pandora’s box he’s not sure if he should open this soon after everything.

“No, no, no. I call fuckin’ _bullshit_ ,” Jay snarls back while Dick raises his head just enough to see Bruce wince. “What? Pretender all kinds ‘a pissed _off_ we gotch ourselves innit? Don’t want no ‘Megas crampin’ his style? Stomped away ‘cause he had ta come back here n’ take care a’ fucking _business_?”

“You can tell us,” Dick wearily lowers his head back, “we already know he isn’t interested in being an Alpha to us.”

The quiet moment when B and Alfred exchange a pointed glance is the only thing needed to make both Omegas visibly straighten.

“I believe Master Timothy is under the same assumption the two of you are,” Alfred begins gently, moving automatically to hand Dick a cup of warm tea, eyes meeting the Omega’s pointedly before handing another to Jay. “He is, unfortunately, certain he is rather unwelcome, and his leaving is, in his mind, in the best interest for everyone.”

Bruce sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose, “what he probably _meant_ –”

But Dick is up on his feet before B even finishes the sentence.

“Whoa, Dickie!”

But _nope_ , he’s not stopping, already through the Grandfather clock by the time Jay catches up to him.

“All right, all _right_ , jus’ need ta _calm_ it down a little, yeah? It’s... _shitty_ , Dick, geddit? I mean–” and Jay tries to pace him, talking low and comfortingly as they descend around the winding staircase with the sound of Bats getting louder, the screech taking over.

“Shitty?” At the bottom of the steps, Dick whirls around, “ _shitty_ , Jay?” And when his chest expands, when he sucks in a breath, almost _chokes_ on it, Jason Todd reaches out automatically, eyes going wide with the stab of scent, the utter _misery_.

“Y-You don’t even _know_ how hard it was when Bruce disappeared, you don’t have any _idea_ what I had to do when we were without a Pack Leader and Tim was the only Alpha and he was a _kid_. He...he couldn’t be Pack Alpha, and I-I did the best I could. I tried to make the right choices for everyone! I tried, Jay, _fuck_ I tried–!”

Jay takes a step back as Dick starts to pace, his scent getting more and more agitated, angry, sad, _hurt_.

“Dami was ten _seconds_ from going back to the League of Assassins, and if I didn’t make him Robin, he would have. We would have lost _another_ pack member, and…and–!”

“Hey, hey now,” Jay eases up on him, palms showing in an _easy-does-it_ sort of way, “s’all right, Dickie, ssshhhh.”

“ _No,_ it’s not alright! _”_ The older Omega snaps back.

It gives Jason Todd the opportunity to ease even closer, to gently set his palms on Dick’s trembling shoulders, “I getch it, Dickie. Really, I do.”

“...he didn’t come back because–”

“ ‘More n’ jus’ ‘cause a’ Demon n’ the tunic, Dickie. Ya know I had m’ own hand init. Was me what put that bat-a-rang in his chest, almost slit him from ear ta ear, you feel me? What fuckin’ Alpha’s gonna come back ta _that_?”

And the two of them sink gently down to sit in front of the big computer while the shadow of their Beta Pack Leader hovers behind them, listening, wondering if he should step in and make himself known, try to comfort his sons, his Pack.  Instead, the youngest comes from behind him, and in a rare moment, lays his head on his father’s mid-back and fists his hands in B’s ragged t-shirt.

He turns just enough to fit a hand on the back of Dami’s neck and give a soothing purr. Behind them, Alfred lingers for a moment before descending the stairs slowly, using just his momentum to push them the rest of the way down.

It’s easier than B would have thought, since Dick’s not a kid anymore and Jason is still on edge with him sometimes, but when he huffs at them and sinks down, pulls both Omegas against him, he knows he’s done the right thing. Even if his scent isn’t as strong or as soothing as an Alpha’s, even if he can’t purr the same way, even if his boys are grown up now, they both still sink into his arms like they were still–

– _Robin_.

 

**

####  **Dick**

“Hey Red,” and Kon sounds...hesitant.

Welp, _that_ never bodes well.

The whiteouts are up on his dom, and he draws back away from the screens he’d been staring at for the last few hours, working out the next missions, doing some analytics on which evil ass-hat is the closest to blowing up a major continent or enslaving mankind this week.

Standard Tuesday.

Still, at least they have a few days of down-time before they needed to move in on The Light, so the Titans are indeed winning.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Red Robin turns from his systems in the monitoring center of the Tower to give Superboy, hovering in the doorway across the room, his attention.

“Sorry, man, I hear you. Everything okay?”

As a null, Kon doesn’t react to any kind of pheromones. Sure, super senses guarantee he can smell them, but it doesn’t affect him biologically. So, Red thinks a little desperately, he probably has no idea what he’s doing when he walks into the Alpha’s space smelling like _hurt_ , _rejected, angry_ Omega.

Flip some crazy instinctual switch apparently.

One Red never had a problem controlling until _after_ B called him back to Gotham because of a little problem with Nightwing and Hood.

( _He’s never been more honored, never understood so acutely the inner Alpha being aroused by an Omega and what it would_ do _to him to have them writhing under his hands, his mouth..._ )

The second that scent hits Red Robin’s nose, the exhaustion is just _gone_ and the vigilante is ramrod straight, crossing the room in a blur to back Kon right up against the wall.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Red Robin growls low and dangerous, hands over the meta’s shoulders, burying his nose in the shoulder of Kon’s t-shirt where the scent is the strongest. “Kon. _Where_?”

“Oh...I, uh, didn’t know it would flip you out this bad or I would have changed shirts,” He lies easily, attempts to push Red Robin’s face back, but the warning noise coming from the Alpha makes even _his_ hair stand up on end.

With the whiteouts up on the domino, Kon can tell the second Red’s eyes dilate while his muscle tense, all kind of ready for action.  

“Kon,” part-growl, part-demand.

“You’re going to be really pissed off about this,” the super fills in quickly, “but he’s in your Perch. I think it’s safe to say he’s pretty far from _fine_ , man, or else I’d smell like fucking cotton candy or something.”

And Red gives another low, deep growl, the sound rolling up from the base of his chest, echoing darkly in the monitoring center.

“ _Whoa!_ Tim, _dude_ , please tell me you’re going to calm down before you–” and Kon made the mistake of gripping a shoulder, trying to stop his bestie from turning away. He’s not sure when it went from that to Red literally throwing his ass _through the wall_ before taking off to the stairs.

“–go to him…” is a barely heard grumble from the human-shaped hole. A small _blip_ follows on the tail-end of it.

“He took that better than we expected. Everyone out of Red’s way. He’s not really on board for chit-chat at the moment.”

Cassie’s voice comes over the comm unit as little more than a squeak, “Conner _what_ are you thinking?! You could have commed him so he wouldn’t scent–”

“Give me _some_ credit, Cassie. He wouldn’t have understood how bad it was if I hit him up over comms!”

“You _asshole_! You smell like–”

“Yeah, yeah I do. He owes me. T put me through a _wall_. On purpose.”

“I hope you landed on your head.”

“That’s more hurtful than the wall.”

“I’m going to show you hurtful after this.”

“Sure, sure. Just wait until after T sees him, then we’ll talk about who made the right call.”

**

The main door to his Perch at the top of the steps opens before he’s reigned his instincts completely in, and he fucking _knows_ it.

( _Dammit. Get it the **together** , Tim._)

It takes conscious effort to take only a single step instead of rush the Omega waiting on him.

His fists are clenched in his gloves, knuckles straining, and the fight against his instincts is hard enough to make sweat drip down the back of his neck. It the most powerful pull he’s ever felt as an Alpha, and it’s no surprise that only someone like Dick Grayson smelling like _hurtinjuredscared_ could pull it out of him.

( _Even though they don’t need you. Never really have, right?_ )

The scent, stronger, more powerful than the sparse whiff he’d gotten off of Kon, fills his space with obvious _hurt_ since Dick isn’t wearing any blockers with his suppressants.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” the older vigilante doesn’t even turn to face him, keeps his back to Red, both arms wrapped around himself. It’s a complete 360 from the Nightwing he usually knows, this Omega in ragged jeans, a _Gotham City Welcomes You!_ T-shirt, and too-big for him jacket. Everything about Dick’s hunched figure hits _all_ his protective instincts. “I’m sorry, Tim. I shouldn’t have come here like this–”

The Alpha gives up on keeping himself back, takes a few long strides forward to grip Dick’s elbow and _pull_.

“What happened? You smell like the world is falling apart. The team’s down for a few days if it’s terrible shit going down in Gotham–” Because he tries to keep it professional, tries to keep out of Dick’s Pack Business.

“It’s not Gotham,” flat and dull, so _not Dick_ that Red Robin automatically takes another step in, reaches up without realizing to grip the other arm.

“ _Okay_ , so we’re talking about what _isn’t_ wrong. Why don’t we cut to the chase where you tell me more directly what _is_ wrong and we’ll handle about it.”

( _And he bites down on his lip because in the back of his brain pan where things so desperately wanted but can’t be had are stored, this moment where he can pretend Dick will give in and curl against him, will let him soothe and care for and be a good fucking Alpha…_ )

“I shouldn’t have come here,” and Dick can’t even really look at him, just the side profile with the tight line of jaw and crinkles at the corner of his eye. “I just... I just wanted to know _why_ , but it’s stupid, and I–”

“Why?” Red repeats dumbly, “Why what? Dick, I don’t–”

“Take your _mask_ off if you’re going to talk to me, Tim,” because Dick looks directly at him long enough to scowl. “I don’t need a damn _vigilante_ right now. I need–” and the older vigilante cuts himself _off_ , chest stuttering when he chokes the words back.

Red doesn’t hesitate, when his instincts are reacting before his brain, and pulls off the dom to be Tim.

And maybe because Dick’s scent is so bitter, tinging the familiar sweetness, because he looks like he’s been through hell, tired and worn like back when the JLA had gone to the past to fight Gamemnae, and Nightwing lead the reserve League in protecting the world. Maybe it’s because Dick’s here in his space, coming to him _willingly_ , without the suit and scent blockers, without Nightwing’s devil-may-care, when he’s giving this vulnerability. Maybe it’s because the Alpha in Tim has grown enough in the last two years to recognize how hard it is for Dick to break down like this, and makes that Alpha in him wants to _respond._

So maybe a little bit of everything makes it’s easier than he’d thought to reach up, nice and easy, to slide his still-gloved hand around the back of Dick’s neck and give the gentlest of squeezes, holding his breath and _hoping_.

( _God, does he want to purr so the Omega knows he’s here, that it’s all going to be okay, that they’ll figure whatever it is out together…_ )

Those blue eyes slide over to him, just like he wants, and in a rush, he’s full of arms and legs and big, muscly Omega seeking comfort by burying his face in the side of Tim’s neck under his hair.

It’s so reminiscent of the many, _many_ octopus holds he’d had to just _deal with_ back when they were good and Dick trusted him enough to be at ease, to seek comfort and scent and support and affection.

All the things good Pack _needs_ and _provides_.

( _He missed it. Didn’t realize how much it meant until he was heading out of Gotham and all that familiarity was_ gone _. He didn’t realize he’d taken it all for granted._ )

It’s everything he can’t admit he _loves_ about ( _Dick Grayson_ ) being an Alpha, because then he has an excuse to want _all_ of this, holding and soothing, purring with a lapful of needy Packmate.  But it’s the way a Pack is supposed to work, supporting and taking care of each other, to fill in the gaps when needed. The Pack gives one another strength to keep going, and at one time, Tim thought he could fight the world as long as he had Dick and B, Babs and Steph, Alfred and Cass.  It had been closeness and bonding and scenting and being _wanted_... he’d been making due with the Titans since he lost the _R_ , but this, here, with Dick, the _what I once had_ is devastating, makes Tim’s chest crack open _wide_.

So it might be some old instincts from his Robin days driving him, it might be some lingering affection and bittersweet salute to nostalgia–

( _because they really just don’t need you_ )

–but he still manages to use Dick’s height against him and muscle the other vigilante back on the couch in his living room. It might have been Dick’s hands helping ditch the cape and utility belt, the gloves and gauntlet, the harness and body armor because the tight hold he’s got over his instincts is slipping even more now that he’s got permission.

It ends up being just the two of them huddled in the corner of his couch, Dick’s legs thrown over his because he easily maneuvered the Omega to sit in the niche of his lap, pressed up against him tightly, close to his scent and petting hands. He’d already started purring low and deep without really being aware of it, but it seems like more than muscle memory when he drags his nails over the short hairs on the back of Dick’s neck, rocking the big body curled around him.

It’s not until he feels Dick take a deep breath, his back muscles finally _relax_ , does he breathes out himself.

He doesn’t let up with the scratching, doesn’t let his other arm loosen from around Dick’s back in the slightest while the Omega shakes a little against him, doesn’t focus on how this is only because of biology.

( _Wrong Robin, right?_

_Still, none of it stops how much he **wants** it._)

“So not the usual crime fighting,” and Tim tries to make it light, just a little witty banter to throw around so Dick won’t know how much he really needs this, “Did Kory send you another selfie with Taylor Swift? Demon gnaw on Gordon’s ankles? B brooding more than usual?”

The chuff against his neck eases them both down another degree and Dick pretty much just slumps _all_ over him.

He feels marginally better when the bitter taint to that sweetness starts slacking.

Yup, banter for the win.

“You’re a jerk, Timmy.”

“Mmhm. None of that shocks anyone, you know.”

“Yeah…” and the nose against his scent gland quivers with breath, something soft and sad in Dick’s voice when he follows up with, “I miss you, Tim. I missed this.”

It’s gruff and quiet when he says it, the words coming from somewhere down _deep_ , “you can come back anytime. I...I would never tell you _no_ , Dick, even if you–”

“–even if I was _what_ , Tim?”

“...even if you have another Alpha, I would never turn you away. You _know_ that, right?” He tries to be soft about it, matter-of-fact so he doesn’t get stupidly emotional about it.

But his hackles rise when the muscles under his hands goes _rigid_ and he tightens his hold, starts babbling because _dammit_ , he’d fucked up, hadn’t he?

“Look, I’m not the Alpha you _want_ , okay? I mean, I try to stay away from the Pack so there isn’t...you know, _problems_ but-but you don’t have to tell them about this, I won’t get in the way–”

_No one ever has to **know**_.

But the feeling of utter _failure_ hits him deep when Dick jerks back, eyes wide and wet.

_Shit_.

And if Tim Drake hadn’t spent the last two years tamping down on his inner Alpha when he was thrown out, if he _hadn’t_ rejected the needs, the instincts, been fighting with himself all this time, he would have grabbed Dick’s arms, drawn the Omega back against him, growled low and soothingly to keep him from pulling away again.

He’d even started reaching out automatically to do _just that_ since the scent in his nose is getting sickeningly sweet around the edges, giving him a reference about Dick’s state of mind, about how he might just react if the Alpha tried forcing his scent and touch, tried to _calm him_ without being given permission.

( _It’s all just stupid fucking instincts, isn’t it? The Omega in Dick, the Alpha in him. It’s not like Dick really wants him to do a damn thing. Isn’t that why he took away the R in the first place?_ )

Instead, Red Robin lifts both hands, palms up, trying to be absolutely _harmless_ to keep himself from reaching out. He even avoids direct eye contact so Dick won’t be pressured to submit.

“I’m sorry,” the Alpha fills in quietly, “I shouldn’t have pushed–”

“ _Stop. Talking._ ” Dick snaps back at him, tone wavery, arms crossed tightly over his chest while he fairly vibrates with pent-up energy and with an impossible twist of his hips, is on his feet, pacing the length of the couch. “I am so _angry_ right now, Timmy, I can barely _think_. So you are just going to stop it _right now_.”

His eyes follow the movement, tracks the Omega’s progress, desperately trying to think _calmly_ so his scent doesn’t change.

( _He has no idea how Dick might react to arousal in his musk, but just_ really _, who could be a Saint when that ass is walking right past him?_ )

“Okay...okay, I won’t–”

“No! It’s not _fucking_ okay, Tim!” And it bleeds _anger_ while Dick’s hands shake and his eyes get glittery in the overhead lights. “When you came and took care of us, I thought– I _thought_ we could finally–” and the Omega takes a step back, blinking rapidly, “I...I was wrong. You don’t–” and when Dick’s chest hitches, when his palms go up to scrub his face, when his shoulders slump, Tim’s inner Alpha lurches forward, whines, claws at his insides more strongly than he’s ever _felt_ before, and the detective in him starts to put the evidence together.

“It was too much to hope for,” Dick turns slightly, averts his face, “I’ve tried to keep the Pack running while you were trying to get your bearings as Red Robin. I told myself I could be patient until you were ready, until you came back to us, but...but you never _planned_ on coming back, did you?”

_What now?_

And because he just can’t help himself, because his inner Alpha is _starving_ for touch, he rolls to his feet in just boots and the body suit zipped halfway down his chest, reaches out slowly to wrap his bare fingers around Dick’s wrists, making soothing circles with his thumb on a pressure point without thinking about _why_.

“That’s... _Dick_ , you didn’t want me to be your Robin _or_ your Pack Alpha, remember? It’s _okay_ , I mean, I...It wasn’t for a while, but then I...I understood. I _get it_ , so it’s okay now, but... I stayed with the Titans so _you_ could have the Pack you wanted.” But at this juncture, he’d come to realize it was all for the best really, and that Dick had made the right call all along.

The Omega gasps, wide-eyed with the omission, opens his mouth, but Tim presses down a little with his thumb and keeps going, “when B called and told me what you and Jason needed...I should have said _no_. I already knew you didn’t want me, and I should have...Dick, I took advantage of the situation, of _you_ and Jason. I’m _sorry_ and you have every right to be upset with me–”

( _Even if it was the most amazing few hours of his life_.)

“H-How can you even _say that_?” And Dick is off his lap, jaw tightly clenching, blinking rapidly enough to make Tim feel like absolute _ass_. “After everything, _everything_ , we’ve been through since you became Robin? Years, Tim. We’ve been family for _years_. We’ve fought together, _bled_ together, patched each other up, snuggled and we–we’re _Pack_ , dammit!”

And when he’s in _Nightwing_ and it’s time to come up with a plan, he’s calm, cool, collected. The nervous energy becomes focus and will, becomes the drive to make sure no one gets hurt. With the Titans, he can be the point man, the one calling the shots, working everyone in tandem. Going solo, he can divide his attention to add witty banter with the knuckle sandwich and side of general sleuthing.But when the suit comes off, and some of the responsibilities with them, he can give in to parts of his nature, he can pace and stress and worry, he can let the life he leads as a vigilante take its fucking _toll_.

Which is why Tim doesn’t bother to stop him from pacing, even if the scent is getting bitter again. He _knows_ Dick needs to work out his stress and energy by movement, and it gives them both a few minutes to let the shocks and surprises sink in.

“That’s what I thought at one time, too,” he replies quietly, slinking back a little to stay out of the path Dick’s making in his Perch. “I thought...I thought we were Pack.”

He flinches when the movement stops and those blue, blue eyes snap to him. “You didn’t want–”

“A seventeen year old to be _my Alpha?_ Yes, Timmy. _Because you were seventeen_.”

“I was also a _Bat_ , Dick, I could have–”

“I’m sorry _was?_ We will get to that, Tim, we will _fucking_ get to that,” and Dick takes those crucial steps to be face-to-face, staring him down with those blue, blue eyes, “but _seriously_ , you hadn’t even hit your Rut yet! You want to think you took advantage of me and Jay? It would have been _worse_ if I had done the same back then because there wasn’t any _possibly homicidal drugs_ involved!”

“Dick, I–”

“I wouldn’t have _done that_ to you,” is softer, just as firm, “no matter how much I _needed_ you, I knew it was time for you to move on. Being Robin? It was _killing you_ , and I couldn’t watch it anymore. Giving Dami Robin wasn’t just about _him_ , it was just as much about you.”

At some point the grip had changed, and it was Dick holding Tim still, making circles on his wrist, keeping him from stepping back.

“You don’t have to give me some _bullshit_ excuse,” is only slightly bitter.

“You know what terrified me back then when the League brought that body home in the Batsuit?” Is quiet and tense, Dick fingers getting _tight_. “Wondering if I would have to pull you away from the Lazaru Pit again so you wouldn’t try to clone Bruce. Or that you would finally use the .45 automatic you didn’t think anyone knew you had.” It’s a ragged breath, a moment where Dick’s afraid, a little desperate, leaning forward with his other hand,  “you called me one time after Kon and Bart died, remember?  I _heard_ you put the clip in. I _heard_ you, Tim. I didn’t let you off the phone until I heard you take it out and put the damn thing away.”

His stomach drops abruptly with the revelation. Some insanely calm part of his brain now knows why the auto never made it to the Haven with him.

“You were walking this line,” and Dick pulls him just a little, just enough to see the shock and devastation on his face, “and I couldn’t save you. Being Robin for me would have made it worse. You would have stayed beside me in Gotham and ran double-time trying to prove Bruce was alive. Dami would have been driven further away. He might have gone back to Ra’s and Talia. They might have taken him back...and we’d spend the next _however long_ trying to stop world-ending plans where _innocent people die_. And I...I couldn’t let that happen. Any of it, Timmy.”

A flutter of something soft makes some of the tension in his chest ease, makes him blink at the very abrupt _about-face_ in his brain pan.

“I’m sorry you ever thought I was trying to kick you out of the Pack because that...that isn’t it _at all_. I was trying to give you the time and space you needed, to _do_ what you needed to do. I mean, I came after you before you hit city limits, remember? I wasn’t going to let you leave, but once I realized how firm you were, proving Bruce was alive, I knew keeping you here would be _worse_. So I...I let you go and I _thought_ with the understanding that you would come _back_.”

Tim’s jaw gets tight, his eyes oddly warm and full enough that he has to look away, blink it all back. Some of it fades out into a _wah, wah wah_ because Tim's vision goes blurry, his chest so fucking tight all of a sudden. Back then, his last year with the tunic had been so _wrong,_ one shit storm after another.

His parents, his best friends, Bruce, Steph, fucking Gotham. He'd insanely tried cloning Kon and Bart–

( _Dick stopped you in time._ )

–had been walking the edges of his very _sanity_.

Dick taking the cape from him had been the last straw, the breaking point.

( _All this time...all this time because he thought they didn't fucking want him. That he was just some kid in the boots, that they kept him because he'd figured them out all those years ago, that his tenure as Robin had been more about protecting themselves than wanting him in the family, in the Pack, in the legacy of the Dark Knight...)_

Becoming Red Robin was a nod to the old life because he didn't think he'd ever get to _have it back_.

And he'd _tried_. _Fuck, he'd tried so **hard**_.

Even while their scents slowly faded from his throat, the last vestiges lingering inside his suit ( _and how he'd held it to his chest in a cold safe house in Indonesia on a case, crying like a little kid when he couldn't get a hint of Cass or Alfred, Dick or Bruce –fuck, **Bruce** – because that meant he really was packless, wasn't he?_), even when he was starting to think Dick was right all along, Bruce was dead and _this_ was his sanity finally slipping, even when Z and Owen were dead, he'd still stayed away until he had absolutely no other choice.

Ra's coming for everyone was his breaking point for staying out of Pack business, and the last time he was in Gotham to work directly with them.

He'd sent Batman home alone, stayed in the Tower, stayed in her Perch on the down low, only sent data when the Pack reached out to him. He'd done what he thought everyone _wanted_.

( _No matter how much it fucking_ hurt _to be rejected_.)

Tim’s jaw gets tight, his eyes oddly warm and full enough that he has to look away, try to blink it all back.

" _Tim_ , you have to believe me. You already know Cass is your lap kitten at any and all times.  Bruce has been _dying_ for over a year without you. Not to even mention Alfred. He thinks you're working yourself into an early grave every time your team is on the news. And me?" Dick gently tips Tim's face up, those eyes full and red-rimmed, making Dick whine softly and press on, "I want to wrap myself around you and never let _go_. Oh my _God_ , Tim, how could you ever think I wouldn't _need_ you? You've always," his breath hitches when Dick's voice cracks, and the eldest Robin pulls him in hard, rocking their chests together, wrapping him up in an unbreakable hold.

_Welp. Trapped._

_Of fucking course._

But he worms his arms around to hold on, to grip Dick’s shoulders and shove his damn face right against the scent gland to breathe in the sweetness, the lingering scent of Pack. He doesn’t flinch when the wet stripe over his throat is scent marking, doesn’t hesitate to let himself taste the long line of Dick’s jugular, to nuzzle against the hinge of the Omega’s jaw with the buzz of contentment from his inner Alpha.

The old familiarity of it, of being claimed again, takes more of the sting out than he realized still existed, and it’s stupid how he threads his fingers in Dick’s hair while a few pathetic tears spill over onto the neck of the Omega’s t-shirt.

They stay like that, holding on with the edge of desperation, with how long and how painful the misunderstandings had broken them still hovering in the air. There’s more that would need to be said, to be handled, but for the moment, Dick only has to nuzzle against his ear and say quietly,

"you've always been so _important_ to me. How could you not _know_ that?"

Maybe just hearing all the validation is enough to make those old hurts ease, sharp edges that used to cut to the bone dull with time and the Pack mark from Dick back on his throat just like when he was

( _Robin._ )

Part of the family.

But it feels like he can take his first full _breath_ for the first time in a very _long_ time. It feels like he can _move_ again. Like he can be a _good Alpha_.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize until you’d been gone so long.” Is quiet against the top of his head, “I thought I just needed to give you time. I-I mean, when you came to take care of us. Jay and I… we thought– it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what we thought. What matters is–”

"What did you think, Dick?" And it's there, a subtle undertone, the Alpha Voice that made Dick go immediately more pliant against him, mouth dropping open just slightly.

( _Shit. Have to turn that down._ )

“This isn’t the time or place to talk about it,” is a little slurry, a little punch-drunk. “If you come back to the Manor for a night, then we’ll talk about it. And cuddles. I demand cuddles before we have this conversation, Timmy, and _this_ cuddling doesn’t even count right now because I have–”

Tim’s hand comes up fast, covering the lower half of Dick’s face, muffling whatever he was going to say.

He doesn’t notice his hand is just a little shaky ( _because all this time thinking it was over, he’d ended up out on his own again when he could have gone the fuck home_ ), but he absolutely _needs_ to hear it from Dick, just one more fucking time.

“So, I...I can come back?”

The answer is right there in grabby Omega. Dick’s back muscles get tight for an instant before he pretty much throws them both, flips them in an impossible move to land it on the couch with Tim on his chest with every damn limb around him.

“ _Yes_ ,” is hoarse and low with an undertone he can’t place ( _but it makes his inner Alpha immediately perk up, get restless, get needy for_ something. _It takes real will power to tamp it back down, to fight the instinct to make that thread in Dick’s voice disappear however in the hell he **had** to_.) “Yes, Timmy, come back. Start out just for the night if you need to, We can go from there. But just...come back.”

His eyes burn and arms lock right the fuck down, gripping Dick like he was the only stable thing left in his crumbling world. He can’t help how hard his shoulders are shaking, how his chest is quaking against Dick’s, how his scent smells so damn broken.

“Timmy,” is gentle against his hair. It’s nice Dick doesn’t point out how he’s crying. He gets all the good vigilante points for that alone.

He sobs with it, with the realization because he can go the fuck home to _his Pack_.

Dick, still reeling with the reasons he’d come to Titan’s Tower in the first place, his inner Omega _hungry_ for the Alpha that was always, _always_ **safe** , the Alpha that was _Pack_ , the Alpha that had overcome what he’d seen as _rejection_ to come and take care of them, had put them over himself, feels such utter _devastation_ while he holds Tim against his chest, rocks them both gently while the Alpha sobs like his heart is breaking open _wide_.

It’s both the _big brother_ and the Omega that makes him ache for not realizing how hopeless and hurt Tim had become, how apparent it is _now_ that Tim had taken losing Robin as rejection, as being _thrown away_ , that Tim’s already apparent abandonment issues stemming from his parents had only compounded.

That he thought he’d lost the only family he’d had left.

( _How could you think we wouldn’t **want** you, Tim? How could you say you **were** one of us without knowing what you mean to the Pack? To the Bats? To me and Jason…?_)

But Dick purses his lips and holds on _tighter_ , holds on until Tim’s done with the tears, is just laying limply against him, promising himself he would be the one to bring their Pack Alpha back to Gotham where he belonged.

And that plan would start here, _now_. Even if Tim never touched him again, if Tim never saw him through a Heat, never gave him what his body and instincts _craved_ , he would make _damn sure_ his Alpha was going to come the fuck _home_.

 

**

#####  **_Jay_ **

Gotham City air burns the lungs. Scortches _hot_.

Red Robin just breathes it in, sighs when it’s something like _home_.

He’s got on a special body suit and tunic, hopes the plan is going to work out, and takes to the rooftops close to where the Red Hood should be patrolling.

He left the Manor an hour ago, decided to stay the night in the Perch after a quick visit. Just a little daytime civvies, no pretense of a case or world-ending _disaster_ in need of another body between the baddies and the citizens of the city. He came because Dick asked him to, knocked on the door as Tim Drake in old jeans, beat-up DCs, and a hoodie that’s definitely seen better days. The ragged JanSport on his back has the usual array any CEO-by-day-vigilante-by-night could possibly need.

Surprisingly, Dami had been the one to answer the front door, a recent growth spurt making Tim only a head taller than the current Robin, and _dammit_ , he’s apparently destined to be the short one.

_Fucking figures._

“Tim,” is surprisingly cordial, but if he’s really getting an olive branch, then he’s determined to take it.

It’s why he’d come to the front door in civvies, no scent blockers. It’s why he’d sent Dick ahead, promising he _would_ make an appearance. It’s why he’s standing here without a mask, hoping it’s not all for nothing.

“Hi Baby Bat.”

There’s a second where Dami inhales sharply, deeply, and his pupils dilate before he opens the door wider to usher Tim inside.

“Pennyworth hasn’t yet called everyone for dinner. Father is in the media room with Cain and Grayson. I believe Brown may also make an appearance.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Dami.” Tim takes the step inside, tries not to notice the neutral scent getting stronger when he passes, tries not to get his hopes up.

( _Even with Pack instincts, he doubts Demon could even get used to him being around too often. Sure, he probably thought the Alpha musk was soothing, but that didn’t mean Tim shouldn’t be on the lookout for a sword to the kidneys._ )

It helps that Dick wraps himself around Tim, shoving his face blatantly against the scent gland in his throat. It helps even _more_ when Cass bounces in his lap the second Dick moves to help Alfred and leans in to daintily licks his scent gland in a very pointed message ( _Welcome back_ ).

B literally grabs him by the back of the neck like he’s still ( _Robin_ ) a kid and bites down lightly, making Tim go weak in the knees and whine a little because his Pack Leader just claimed him, cementing the bond between them all over again.

He gives himself about a hundred Vigilante Points for not breaking down when they all smelled so good in one place, their scents happy and calm. It’s enough to put his inner Alpha at ease when it had been so restless for so long, taking every ounce of control to keep himself in _check_ all the time. His eyes might get heavy _as fuck_ , but he doesn’t let it all go. The feel of a claim, of scents on his throat, and the Pack Leader’s hand on the back of his neck, making little circles as he guides Tim into the dining room to sit down for dinner, all of it hits him in those places he’d tried so _hard_ to _hide_.

( _His memory is fuzzy from back then, but after the time spent with Shiva and Clyde Rawlings in Hong Kong, before he’d even officially debuted in Gotham as the new Robin, he’d come back stronger, faster, understanding more about how fucking **big** the world could be–_

_Batman had thrown off the cowl, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and bitten down._

_“Now you understand. You’re always going to be one of my Robins.”_

_He’d been in tears then, had understood on an instinctual level what it all_ meant.

_...losing it had almost been the end of him. If not for the Titans, he might have let himself fall after Bruce had gone back to Gotham and all was right in the world._ )

It’s all so _easy_ and not as awkward as he would have thought. The conversation moves from what’s happening in Gotham to Hong Kong to Metropolis to San Fran, to the next baddies everyone is going to moving against, it’s Alfred’s food and subtle hints that there’s new tech for him, new armor, always cases to solve, Tim, come back when you have _time_.

It’s Dami at the end of the night staring him down until he tilts his head to the side in invitation, a small, encouraging smile on his face.

A lap full of Baby Bat, the kid’s face shoved in his throat against his scent gland, and he’s so fucking _grateful_ he can have this.

( _It’s nice to be wrong sometimes_.)

“Anytime,” he’d told Dami roughly, emotion clogging up his throat. “You call and I’ll come.”

He’d been shocked when the current Robin’s hands had tightened down hard on his biceps, when the voice is just as low and rough as his own, “I will hold you to that, Drake.”

_Six down, one to go._

At the end of dinner and coffee, an hour or so before the rituals start, and the masks go on, he tells them he’ll be back, but doesn’t take Bruce up on the offer to stay the night. Honestly, he’s not ready to deal with his old room, to see bare walls, to face painful memories of doing his homework, taking care of injuries he hid from Alfred, texting Steph until far after he was supposed to be sleeping.

He might be welcome back in the Manor, but the vertigo is _real_.

Still, it’s a nice reprieve because he can actually give in, let the Alpha in him starved for scent and touch and comfort and care to have just a _little_. Not enough, never enough, but after he leaves Wayne Manor behind, he’s able to put it all back in the box, step back into _control_ before he’s off to find the last member of the Pack–

–and pay his fucking _due_.

He hits the Perch, suiting up fast and furious, charged with _purpose_. He grabs a quick shower, leaving his neck the fuck alone, and realizing how long it had been since he’d been here by how the towel feel too stiff against his skin.

The plan starts with the suit he’d brought along, one without high-tech scent blockers. One that would let him announce his presence and hopefully drawing the Red Hood out.

The main systems come online, lighting up the underground garage.

Since it’s Gotham, since he’s after _Jay_ , the Alpha peeks over the edges of his control while he throws the dust cover off a Ducati that doesn’t even have a _hint_ of road dirt, runs gloved fingers over his emblem on the back, and throws a leg over like he’s read to Get. Shit. _Done_.

He hits the city like he’s never left, running down the night from roof to roof, alley to alley. Checking traffic cams and shadowed spots for deals going down, looking out for the glint of a knife or gun, the eventual _gimmie your wallet...or else_.

Taking to the rooftops like this is stepping back in time, his grim determination easing for things like _good fucking times._

He gets a few purse snatchings in his first circle of the Narrows, makes sure he stays in a few places long enough to let hints of his Alpha musk disperse.  

Of course, most people wouldn’t scent it in one place, or even moving along the streets to finish out their night. Only someone moving along the rooftops, tracking crime ( _if Hood takes a smoke break to take off the helmet_ ) would be able to catch it.

Rather than kneel on a rooftop like a shadow and be _the night_ like B, Red Robin keeps moving on the edges of shadows, keeps swinging, keeps running, keeps watching, keeps searching for the next fight. His mind works in several different places at once while he patrols.

Back at the Tower, Dick hadn’t wanted to tell him anything. Had been awfully dodgy when it came to why Jason had been absent from the Manor and pre-patrol tag-up with the Bats the last few nights. He’d had to withhold cuddle-time to get anything even close to the truth.

“ _Jay...has had some bad experience with Alphas, Timmy. He wasn’t..._ okay _...after you left. That’s probably not something I should have told you._ ”

Since it’s okay to work his way back to Gotham, since now he’s _allowed_ , he’d put them both in the Batwing after a brief talk with his team.

Honestly, it was really nice of Cassie, Bart, Kon, Gar, Miguel, and Raven to pretend he was holding a serious team meeting with Dick pretty much stuck to his side if not in his lap. The purring he’d been unconsciously doing wasn’t as embarrassing as it could have been, but at the time, he’d already been more worried where Jason Todd might be at if he isn’t “okay” than if his control over his inner Alpha started slipping.

( _Because If he gets to have this chance, then he’s not going to let any of them fall to the wayside_ –)

And Red is meticulous, stopping a B&E without doing much more than growling low and deep, catching an assault with a little bit of _tough justice_ behind the blow to the attacking Alpha male, staying between the victim and unconscious rapist, talking low and soothing about how the police were on their way and how _glad_ he is he got there in time.

( _“I don’t care if he’s an Alpha. He has **no right** to touch you without your consent.” But the words are like ash in his mouth. It helped the victim calm down, and at that moment, it was enough._)

He only fires the grapple to leave when the first uniforms step foot in the alley, being drawn up into the might to reveal the crying victim. Montoya looks up at him with a salute from the brim of her hat just before she kicks the rapist once and hauls him up by his bound hands, muscles him out of the alley. The paramedics crowd around the victim, soothing and gentle with him, half-carrying him to the waiting ambulance.

( _He makes a mental note to check on the Omega, makes sure he seeks counseling._ )

Red Robin patrols, eyes for any hint of worn leather, a splash of red in the night, the glint of .45s, the hiss of a grapple reeling. He combs the Narrows three times over, stopping at every safe house he knows.

He finally makes a hard, long leap to land it on the Mayweather building, one of the tallest in this part of the city, giving him a high enough perch to slam a powerbar before he goes back at it.

Color him surprised when the older vigilante comes out of the shadows and shocks the utter _shit_ out of him.

“Well, well,” is biting even through the synths, “lookit what we gots _here_.”

Because Jason Todd has been avoiding the Bats for a _reason_ , see? After B sat ‘em down n’ Dickie took off, determined ta hear it from ( _their_ ) the Alpha his damn self, Hood had dropped the other Omega off at the edges of town, riding his own thought train of how fucked _up_ he’d been back then, back when he’d taken out his anger on the Robin what replaced him. How he’d been fulla nothin’ but hot, red _rage_.

It was Timmy what paid the price.

Paid for it in _spades_.

But even if Jay kept tryin’ ta take ‘em outta the game over n’ over, that little _asshole_ just had to keep steppin’ in, trying ta fuckin’ _save_ him, wouldn’t just let ‘im the hell _go_. Kept slidin’ on in, wigglin’ his way inta the Red Hood’s cases and safe houses. All without pushin’ the Alpha on ‘im, too. No scenting and posturin’, or smirks n’ innuendos.   

(“ _Betcha fuck so **sweet** , baby,” when Roman had used the Alpha voice on ‘im one time when the fucking secret was _out _. “I’m gonna let you decide.” That was another wrong choice...well, who the fuck’s countin’?)_

Instead it’s attention to injuries and take-out food. Books squirrel away in his couch so the damn things would poke him in the ass.

All of it plays right inta the ‘Mega what _wants_. Makes those old instincts _react_ in ways only Talia an’ Roman could pull outta him.

_In completely different ways. Ones with sharp edges and dark marks, ones that got him what his ‘Mega **needed** , but still, he’s gotta wonder if it was fuckin’ worth it in the end. Both of ‘em ended up ownin’ a piece of his **soul**_.

_Or whatever the hell is left._

S’ why he used ta fight it with Timmy, used fight it so fuckin’ _hard_. The awful _want_ that throbbed through him only made it worse, back when he only half-remembered, when Talia had put it in his head so clean and clear.

_He’s take it all from you_ , _hasn’t he, altuyur alsaghira? This new Robin...he has stolen your life, your mentor, your city. If you want to go home, then you will have to take it **back**. _ 

He’d still had ta swallow suppressants like candy n’ fight the urge ta let ‘imself fold down, ta wait fer _Alpha_ on his _fucking_ _knees_.

(“ _Such a good bitch, aren’t you?”_ )

‘Cause even back _then_ , somethin’ in ‘im had recognized what was under the surface, the potential _power_ right there in Timmy’s aura. When he’d been s’ messed in the head, he’d fought the pull t’ Timmy’s Alpha like a _motherfucker_ , rejected the Pack, rejected little shit as the Pack Alpha, had thrown them all t’ the wind, tryin’ ta protect himself.

( _How he **screamed** in his fucking coffin, screamed fer B, fer Dickie, fer his fucking mother–_)

The ‘Mega in him _broke_ _as shit_ ‘cause it ( _they_ ) thought the Pack had left ‘em fer _dead_.

He’d been one _bad_ motherfucker.

And Jason Todd never expected the Pack ta come after ‘im every damn time he gotch himself inna scrape. Never expected the fuckin’ Bat ta be all kinds a’ up in his business, er Dickie ta send ‘im care packages when the nights were too damn _long_. Sure as hell didn’t think Demon would ever warm up ta him.

But Timmy? The one he tried ta slit from ear ta motherfuckin’ ear?

That was one fer the fucking tally books, yeah?

An’ in the last two years, s’ been more effort ta keep the ‘Mega in ‘im back ‘cause Timmy’s _older_ , _stronger_ in that red n’ black. The way he _moves_ with hips swayin’ and muscles _tight_. It’s still bad with suppressants. It’s still fucking _bad_ with scent blockers ( _warm throat and long fingers bringing him right to the edge an’ over, playin’ him just nice n’ **right**_ ). Even worse, the last mother _fuckin’_ straw was when the Alpha showin’ up n’ Gotham with a whole lotta _lemme take care a’ ya_ on his mouth hits too many buttons better left alone.

( _Unless what B said is true, then they gotta Alpha what could keep ‘em grounded, balance out the Pack. An Alpha that stayed away ‘cause he thought that’s the way it **oughta** be._)

All these things in his considerin’ while he fights n’ patrols, tryin’ ta work out his wants n’ frustrations, his shame n’ hopes, making a plan on how he could maybe show up on one a’ Red’s cases outside the Tower.

He reasoned out the _how’s_ and _could it even work’s_ , fighting on auto-pilot, wonderin’ if he n’ Dickie could be the Alpha’s reason ta keep comin’ back…

Imagine findin’ the Alpha moving through his territory, smelling dark and _spicy_ along the night.

Must be _some_ kinda fate in that since Red Robin is standing in his territory right outta the blue. It means they might still got a _chance_ ta make this right.

Red holds up both hands, palms up in a _I’m not dangerous_ kind of way. “I came to apologize if you’ll hear me out.”

Hood goes carefully _still_ , the whiteouts fixed on the smaller Alpha, _waiting_.

“You have every right to be angry. I didn’t get your consent before I touched you.” He sucks in a breath, tries to subtly get a hint through the scent blockers. “If you want my apology, I’ll give it. If you want to kick my ass, then I’ll take that too. I–” he cuts himself off, forces himself not to give stupid _excuses_ because this? This isn’t about him. “Whatever you want me to do to make this right, Jason, I’ll do it.”

And even though he’s been on the wrong side of Jason Todd’s hand before, Red Robin can stand and not flinch when the very dangerous vigilante _moves_ , stalks across the roof separating them.

(And _no_ , he’s not thinking of those hips, that big body writhing with every touch, those eyes so _blue_ instead of green rolling back in his head with pleasure, pleasure he let Tim give him…and _fuck_ was he beautiful, bringing the Alpha in him so close to breaking his leash.)

The only thing he does is move to push the cowl back, taking away his protection, lifting his chin for the perfect shot if that’s what needs to happen here.

He doesn’t expect the Red Hood to step right up in his space, close enough that their chests are almost touching (because that is not conducive to an _awe-inspiring_ _punch to the face_ ) while the Omega stands tense and tight, chest rising and falling with deep, panting breaths.

“Make it _right_ , Timmy? Ya wanna lemme in on what ‘cha plannin’?”

“Whatever you need me to do,” is effortless, his hands spread out in front of him.

(The helmet twitches just _slightly_ when he gets a vague flash, of being so fuckin’ _hot_ n’ needy. Of Timmy, just runnin’ his hands on Dickie, runnin’ hands on _him_ , tellin’ how he was gonna do whatever Jay _needed_ , give ‘im alla it, tellin’ him how good he smelled, what a good ‘Mega he was…)

“Alphas don’t give a shit ‘bout _consent_ sometimes–” drawls out of the synths in a deceptive drawl.

“ _I fucking do_ ,” the Alpha snarls. “Ivy’s formula or no, I didn’t have any right to touch you without your permission. It was _wrong_ , Jason, and I’m–”

“ _What?_ ” Through the synths stops him cold because that didn’t really sound _angry_ per say, “Jesus Fucking _Christ_ , Timmy,” hands thrown up in frustration. “Yer th’ goddamned Pack Alpha!”

“I...Even if I _was_ , I should have made sure you were okay with me taking care of you.” Bare-faced in Gotham’s damp night, Tim stares up into the whiteouts. “C’mon, Jay. You’ve got plenty of reasons to be angry. I _get_ it. I mean back then, at the Tower. I should have never... Jay, the tunic–”

“ _Wrong_.” And a hand comes up, gloves fingers almost, _almost_ brush over the scar on his throat before Hood pulls back, fist clenching.

Tim’s eyes dart away because he’d _hoped_ there could still be a chance for him to be their Pack Alpha. If Jason couldn’t accept him, then there would be no way he could stay with the Pack.

( _He shouldn’t have let what happened in that Panic Room give him a sliver of hope. That was his real mistake here, thinking –even **slightly** – that it was a good sign they didn’t turn him away, ask him to bring other Alphas. He’d started to wonder if this couldn’t be a foot back in Gotham, had been bolstered when Dick came to him in San Fran, when Alfred smiled as the door to Wayne Manor opened for him again. If it all stop here, if Jay couldn’t call him Alpha after this is said and done...His eyes get a little heavy, a shock of pain through his chest because _of fucking **course**.)

So Tim does what he always does when the instincts are riding him and the situation is starting to look hopeless.

He makes a _plan_.

The gloves and gauntlets drop to the roof, utility belt and cape while Hood silently watches, helmet tilted to the side. It’s a good enough sign that Jason is still even _standing_ here, letting him disarm, letting him bare himself.

Harness is last, taking his contingencies away.

Slowly, so there can’t be any misunderstandings, Tim Drake lowers himself to his knees, eyes staying on those emotionless whiteouts. Take a breath before he tilts his head to the side and _waits_.

He does it partly to show Jason he’s absolutely _serious_ about this. No bullshit, time. But maybe a small part does it because he’s fought his instincts for So. Damn. _Long_.  And maybe giving in when his inner Alpha demands he reach out could actually be his craziest plan yet. It’s not nearly as good as taking the Omega in his arms, purring until those tight muscles ease, but at least, Jay will know where he’s at this time.

The Red Hood takes a shocked step _back_ , hands opening and closing spastically. Tim can see his knees tremble with the step. ( _Hasn’t an Alpha offered himself to Jay before? Is he doing this all wrong...?_ )

Hood trips the locks on the helmet, eyes on the domino underneath narrow with suspicion, and the older vigilante breathes deep to scent the few inches between them. It’s a bold move that bares enough skin for Tim to get the same access, to scent the air and see where the Omega is _at_ with his offer.

And since Alphas and Omegas usually have a better sense of smell than Betas or nulls, they can pick-up on the subtleties. Hood’s body suit may have scent blockers woven in, may be better than average keeping their secrets, but with his face exposed, it’s there between them. Tim has to close his eyes abruptly and clench his fists against the sweet musk that is _all_ Jason Todd, interested and aroused.

( _Please, please let this be the reason_.)

Which is a _hell_ of a lot better than where he’d thought they were.

“I meant every word I said to you,” he keeps his voice low, the unconscious purr making his chest vibrate slightly on the last syllables, “I was _honored_ to service you when you needed.”

He swallows hard but relaxes just a little when Hood seems to deflate enough to give him the opening he _needs_.

“I thought no one wanted me,” is a rush, his chest aching with it, staring up into the whiteouts, “that’s why I didn’t come back. But Dick...Dick said it might not be true, that you might be okay with it. You might let me come back, I mean.”

Jay sucks in a breath, his chest hitching with it, not expecting the chance ta come right up in his _face_. It’s the low rumbling that calls to his Omega _again_ , makes him want to get his mouth right on Timmy’s scent gland and –

– _suck_.

“I _know_ you don’t need it, but Jay...I already send you whatever deets you need on your cases,” Tim makes it more gentle, “because that’s the only way you’ll _let_ me help you. It’s not...it’s never been enough, even after everything–”

“Tell it ta me _straight_ , Baby Bird,” and he can’t help the catch in his voice when Tim swallows and his throat works, reminding Jay of watching his throat fucking _work_. “Ya sure this is what ya want? After...after all I done ta ya? What with that scar on yer throat? Think ya can see ta me when ya got _that_ ta remember me by? The fucking Robin what _died_? Took out _all_ that anger on ya when it weren’t yer burden ta bare? After all that, there ain’t no mother _fuckin’_ way–”

“You were always mine,” he interrupts immediately, closing his eyes briefly because of what he’s about to admit, how _long_ it had been hovering in his brain. Even after the moment he realized the psycho choking him out was the _real_ Jason Todd, one not dead, one he always wanted to hold and comfort, one that _hated_ him. “From the moment I stood on the fire escape of the theatre in the Narrows, watching you fly with Batman for the first time…”

The memory of it hits somewhere _deep_ , changing his scent with something soft and reminiscent, “Now wadda ya on about? Jesus ya coulda only been–”

“That’s not the important thing here,” and he sways forward on his knees, looks up at Jason’s face obscured by the whiteouts, half-smiles in memory. “I figured out Dick was the first Robin by watching him do a quadruple flip on television. When it was you in the R, my parent were away enough that I followed you whenever I could, got to see you in action. I mean, you even saved me once. How could I ever forget that?”

And Jason Todd see the moment Timmy’s eyes go stupidly _soft_ , feels his chest expand easier than it did even twenty minutes ago.

“I fell for Dick the second he hugged me at Haly’s Circus when I was four years old. I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember really,” and that hint of purr works across Jay’s ragged nerves more n’ he realistically _wants_ when they’re talking about the better fucking _days_. “And you? The moment I saw you–”

A shudder works up the Alpha’s spine, and Jay has to wonder–

( _An’ the mouth sucks him so fuckin’ deep, moan trapped behind the tip of his cock. Next one buildin’ fast and furious, his body too hot, an’ Timmy’s fist finally slides_ in _like Jay’s body was always meant fer him, fer_ this _, givin’ ‘im what he craves without knottin’_.)

“–you weren’t just Batman’s Robin...you were Gotham’s and _mine_.” He breathes out when Jay’s hands twitch toward him, fingers open to the Alpha. “It was stupid to think so because you didn’t even know about me back then, but that’s how I’ve always seen it.”

“All a’cause I saved ya, Timmy?” That soft smile makes things low in Jay’s abdomen get warmer when ( _his_ ) the Alpha laughs softly.

“I fell off the roof of Al’s Diner trying to get a picture for my collection. Robin caught me,” and the smile gets wider, Timmy’s eyes twinkling up at him, “he smelled like cigarettes and told me I was brave and stupid at the same time. He...he held me when I started shaking from the adrenaline. It was the safest I’d felt since the time Dick hugged me.” Tim rises back up on his knees, hands bare to reach up and fist in the leather jacket.

“It didn’t stop there, Jason. It was...it was always you. I didn’t ask for the tunic, not really. In the beginning, I didn’t even think about taking it. I thought it would work out if I went to Dick, if I asked him to go back and be Robin when B was killing himself. I mean, he was getting closer and closer to killing criminals, and at the time, I thought Batman needed a Robin, and I…”

When Tim’s fists tighten in his jacket, make helpless little tugs, Jason Todd seems to gives in, sinking to his knees, already invested on where this little story is going to _go_.

Dickie n’ B never said much ‘bout it. How shit went down after they put him inna ground. He’d read ole’ news reports, seen how bad B had been takin’ ‘em down. Seen how he’d been weighted down in the fuckin’ cape like the weight a’ the world was on ‘im an’ he couldn’t break _free_.

He’s still taller than the Alpha, even on his knees, and the Omega in him wants to lean further down to wrap his hands around those hips and bury his _damn face_ in Timmy’s jugular, gettin’ ‘im closer ta the musk soothing with _safesafesafe_. It ain’t fair when Jason’s mouth fairly _waters,_ some of the tension bleed outta ‘im. It takes him back to that bed in the Manor’s panic room when he could finally let the fuck _go_ , let himself be taken care of, let the Alpha see him through the needin’...

_Betcha Timmy’d treat us right nice again,_ his Omega whispers to him. _Jus’ like last time. Betcha he’d purr and pet, touch just where it’d feel sa fucking **right**_ –

(If he plays his cards right here, he n’ Dickie n’ the rest a’ the Pack might be able ta fucking _have_ him.)

“It hurt because I didn’t want him to replace you either,” and with Jay on his level, when he can make it a slow move to tap the dominio and raise the whiteouts so he can look in those eyes, see the jade flecks buried there, can _see_ the Robin he’d always respected and admired, another Robin that was his _hero_. “I mean, Dick went to him as Nightwing, but when Two-Face had them both, and I thought they were going to _die_ , I had to do _something_. I couldn’t just sit by–”

“Ya didn’t. Not like _that_.” Maybe he should have listened ta Dickie a lil’ bit better when he’d finally started coming around again, back ta the Manor and the Cave, stopped being s’ goddamned _angry_ ‘bout it all. Maybe then he woulda _known_ how Timmy got ta be s’ far outta the loop, coulda started movin’ ‘im back once they’d started fighting crime without bloodying each other.

“I did,” he admits softly, unable to look away even if his throat is getting _tight_. “Alfred let me take your suit out of the case and put it on. I got them free, and when...when I was trying not to die, I kept thinking about how you’d be proud that I tried. After I finally got the real suit, when I started training for the real deal, I would go up in the Manor to that big portrait of you. The one on the second floor, and I’d promise you every time that I would try to be the _best_. I would try to make you proud I was the one that came after. I wanted...Jay, I just wanted–”

But it gets stuck somewhere below his voice-box, something so private and hidden, something he’d never admitted because the guy literally tried to _kill_ him.

( _Jason never had to know how much it **hurt** when he realized how much his boyhood fantasy fucking hated him._)

Yes, they’d been getting _better_ , and the Alpha had been appeased by helping remotely, sending intel on the creep of the week, pulling the vigilante out of the occasional Gotham Harbor by his damn _belt_ , leaving a box of cereal and extra first-aid kit in safe houses Hood was known to peruse.

And it’s a crazy moment when Jason Todd starts to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Can see why Timmy hadn’t told B ta go _fuck-off_ with his shit, had just made his way ta Gotham, n’ gave him n’ Dickie the best time he’d sure as fuck ever _had_.

Even after everything they’d put this Alpha through, he’d always come back if they _needed_ him.

( _“You think I’d be here if it was anyone other than you two?”_ )

The detective in his bones is stirring, he’s realizin’ how close Timmy’d been coming fer the last year ‘er so (even _longer_ seem ta be). The more Red had been steppin’ in, doin’ his own _dance_ , and beatin’ feet ‘fore he could get hurt again. How Alf had said it, that he’d left as soon’s alla it was done ‘cause he didn’t think they _wanted him_.

He didn’t think they wanted him.

This Alpha that wore his name ‘cause a’ shit like _honor_ and _heroes_.

The Alpha he’s gonna help bring back ta their Pack.

“Wanted ta carry me with ya, yeah?” Is what he can come up with, warring instincts while he’s here on his fucking knees on a roof in Gotham, havin’ ta stop himself from fucking reachin’ out when too many things in ‘im were itching ta.

( _Fuck, he smells **good**._)

Tim’s chest catches at the old Gotham twist getting thick, Jay’s eyes falling half-mast around the domino. It gives him the strength to move carefully, cautiously, to palm Jay’s face, rub his thumbs gently over the sharp jaw and day’s worth of stubble.

“Yeah, yeah, I did. Even back then you were smart and fast and _amazing_.” But his cheeks get a little pink and Tim’s eyes dart away for just a second, long enough for Jay to catch it.  

“Don’t say, Baby Bird?” The hint of teasing is perfect, makes the Alpha’s cheeks get just a little _pink_. “Wanna tell me _all_ ‘bout it?”

“I’ve always had a sensitive sense of smell,” with a helpless shrug, “and you… you didn’t have scent blockers when you were in the mask. I mean, you smelled like _heaven_ when you caught me, and it’s was a good night, and you were really...you smelled happy.”

And _that_ is prob’ly the second most fucking adorable thing he’s ever heard. Lil’ almost-Alpha Timmy all flustered ‘cause he thought Robin smelled _nice_.

The laughter catches in his chest, makes it up and out between Tim’s palms.

With that, the tension breaks, and Tim grins wide and white at the sound of Jason Todd laughing at him.

It's going to be a good night after all.

Tim's subtle about it, directing the big body leaning down in mirth to lay against his shoulder, to ease his hands to the back of Jay's shoulders and press just lightly.

"God _dammit_ , Timmy. Gotta make it _hard_ onna guy, don't cha?"

"Someone once told me I was an asshole. That someone was probably you."

"'M still laughin' ya fucker."

"I'll take it over trying to kill me any night."

"Yeah, yeah," and like he should have done it from the beginning, Jay can lean it down a little more, can put some weight on the Alpha, throw an arm over that shoulder so's he can get his face a lil' closer to that _scent_.

It’s stronger right up on Timmy’s jugular, easing him _down_ , brings him a little closer to giving in to the Omega pacing deep, the Omega that wants too much too fast (the fucking ‘Mega what made them mistakes b’fore now with Roman).

It's gentle said against his shoulder, "...everything I said to you, I meant." The breath out is warm against his throat, "I-I don't know if you want to hear it, but I was… so happy to take care of you. Even under terrible circumstances."

It takes a second for Jay to reason out how he could _play_ this. How he could bring their Alpha back and maybe see if that kinda sentiment is the tried-and-true real _deal_.

"We can go to a safehouse," something in Timmy's voice is deep and soft, "I...I could just let you scent me for a while. I mean, that would be really nice right now considering how I was pretty sure you were going to kick my ass. Viciously."

"Don't be stupid. We're good. _Been_ good for a while, Baby Bird. An' I ain't gonna lie 'bout it. Haven't been with an Alpha in a _helluva_ long time. Just proved it's still the best way ta get through a Heat. Made it easier ta deal with, you feel me?"

“Insane toxins notwithstanding.”

“Goes wi’out sayin’.”

“Then…?”

Jason chuffs a laugh, thinking about how he’s done it good tonight, played his cards the right way ta _win_. “Yeah. Yeah, sounds like a right nice idear... _Alpha_.”

And he gets a real _kick_ outta feelin’ the shiver what runs down Tim’s spine when he says it right against that throat. He’s grinning like an asshole, is gonna feel good ‘bout texting Dickie later ta let him know they’ve got a handhold.

He’s left for a moment when Red is up and on his feet, a whirlwind of movement, throwing his cowl back on with the usual crime fighting sundries and scoops up the helmet on his way. He’s got that smile still on his face, gives Jason even more _hope_ the Pack is going to get their Alpha back.  

Which mean Hood is _not prepared_ for Red to lean down over him and slide an arm under his thighs, straightening up to toss the bigger vigilante _literally_ over his shoulders with an arm around the back of his legs to keep him in place.

“Whoa! _Red!_ This ain’t–!”

He’s jarred slightly when the Alpha strides easily to the edge of the roof, helmet hooked onto his utility belt, and not a hint of strain.  

“I said I _liked_ taking care of you,” is the off-handed reply as Red shoots his grapple and tightens down on Hood’s thighs, “and that starts now.”

He’s still smiling when he makes the leap, but what he can’t see is how the Red Hood is grinning, too.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this hit your buttons :D   
> Honestly, I have several interesting Asks about this world, and I’m pretty inspired by one suggesting Tim as a very powerful but lowkey Alpha and the first time the Batfam realizes it ;) I’ve got some plans, you feel me? 
> 
> So, all that is going to eventually find a place, but this is more handling the emotional fallout from the last thing. I told a few people I cried to about writing recently that I needed to get some of the angst and shit out of the way XD


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